


The Crying Game

by iofnewt



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Canon-Typical Being An Asshole, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, That Thing TS Does Where It's All "Oh I'm Not Real" But It Totally Is, he's traumatized and angry and doesn't really understand that TS is a person yet, jonny being nice and a good friend, no beta we die like ulysses, this started out as TS whump but then frankie made me fix it, tim is mean in this but it's set really recently after he's been mechanized so like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iofnewt/pseuds/iofnewt
Summary: The Toy Soldier is very good at pretending to cry.orAn Exploration Of What Makes A Feeling Real
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville & The Toy Soldier
Comments: 26
Kudos: 132





	The Crying Game

**Author's Note:**

> y'all i literally just chucked this at the mechscord and copy pasted it here i am so sorry for my zero effort but if i thought abt it for too long i would simply never post it
> 
> also this is my first ever posted fic pls b nice 2 me, no concrit desired, i will cry (exception being if i missed a tag or warning, pls let me know!)

the toy soldier “pretends” to cry (no tears, but still) but learned early on that it is “so much less fun” when other people were around to see it do this, and to chastise it for doing things a proper british gentleman mustn’t do, things a proper husband mustn’t do, things a proper soldier mustn’t do

so this is one of the games it plays only when it’s alone, as quiet as you please so as not to let anyone hear (a secret game is such great fun, after all)

only sometimes (often) it finds itself so certain that a situation could do with a good cry! even if it doesn’t know why, or if no one else thinks so, or if it doesn’t make sense to anyone including the toy soldier. and it’s never fun the way people react, they never play along the way it wishes they would (it’s not entirely sure what would fit suitably, just that no one’s done it quite right). but all the same, the toy soldier is certain that these situations require a good play at sobs and sniffles, so certain that it can’t seem to resist the need to play its part, even when it doesn’t want to. so it tries its best to go away and pretend to cry all on its own in some corner or closet. sometimes it almost wishes someone would come find it, but that’s silly, because why would it have run off except to be alone?

no one plays the game right. it doesn’t know the rules of the crying game, only that it is following them and everyone else is not and that that’s somehow still its fault. it has to play the crying game. it does not want to play the crying game.

something changes about the crying game on the aurora. the rules are different, or the toy soldier is playing it wrong, or it has had it wrong all this time and everyone else has been playing it right and only now is the soldier playing right. it has learned by now how to hold off the overwhelming wrongness that comes from not playing, how to hold it in and simply get a bit wobbly around its stolen voice. but it seems harder now, more wrong than ever to hold back. now, when it runs off to tuck itself away in a dark closet and pretend to cry and cry and cry, it has to be careful not to be followed. now, people look worried when its voice wobbles. the nice kind of worried, the kind that made people say “poor dear” and offer it biscuits; not the disgusted worry that meant it had to stick around and assure them everything was all jolly good and it was doing just dandy, and wait longer to cry. to pretend to cry, that is. now, when it pretends a little too loud, sometimes it will hear steps pausing outside, a gentle knock, a variable cast member softly calling “alright in there?” it just stays as quiet as it can and lets them wait until they’re ready to leave.  
it knows it won’t be able to hide forever, but it does hope it doesn’t have to stop any time soon. it knows the steps to this dance. it has played this game for so long. it does not know how to stop.

it thinks that when the game inevitably changes, probably jonny will be the one who makes it start pretending, and probably brian will come and change things. it does not happen as the soldier expects.

it starts, of course, with the soldier asking too many questions; it couldn’t help it, it just wanted to know more about this “bertie”, it had barely gotten to know him at all and it wanted to know why he was so important to tim. but it asked too much with too little tact and so tim grew angrier and angrier and snapped out “well how the hell would you understand? you don’t even know how to love.”

and the toy soldier thinks, unbidden, of the angel, and of the kind old woman at the salvation army, and the one-eyed rose red who taught it to whittle, and suddenly it becomes aware that it ought to go pretend _right now_ please and thank you very much. it turns to run, and tim grabs it by the arm, mechanical eyes all fury and fire and hurt.

“no, really, what makes you think you could understand the things _real_ people feel?” and suddenly it can’t keep itself from pretending. it lets out a soft, warbling wail, and crumples to the floor. distantly, it is aware of a gunshot and of tim shouting out more in indignation than pain. it keens and gasps and takes the quietest heaving breaths it can and it is certain that this is how a toy breaks.

and then there are arms around it. hands; one on its shoulder and one moving gently through its hair. a low and earnest voice, murmuring soothing things into its ear. it’s being lifted and then it’s in a lap and moving- rocking, it’s rocking, it’s being held and rocked and soothed, and if it had the wherewithal it would suppose this is how the new crying game goes, and that there are new rules now, so perhaps it can break the old ones.

it does not have that clarity of mind, only the space to sob and cling to the shirt of whoever is holding it. more words, something about “got you” and “alright”, tinged with a faint drawl. as it gradually comes back to itself it finds more details; smells of leather and gunpowder, a mouth murmuring against its temple, the sight of brian pinning tim to the floor across the room. under its hand, the steady ticking of a mechanical heart. it looks up, finally, to the gentlest expression it’s ever seen jonny wear.

he smiles softly at it. “hey there, back with us? gave me a mighty scare there.”

the toy soldier gapes for a moment, mouth falling open and shut for a moment before quietly trying to reply. “i... i’m terribly sorry, chap, i’m not.... entirely certain... rather, i....”

jonny pets its head. “hey, ‘s alright, tim was jus’ pressin’ yer buttons a little too hard. yer allowed to be upset same as any of us.” the new texas drawl is stronger than usual; it’s comforting.

“well, it’s quite alright, he uh... rather, tim was, he was quite right, being as i’m not real i ought not to do things like cry and fall in love. i think i’ve gotten quite splendid at pretending, though! i... i’m, uh, i know how to pretend to cry, and i know when it ought to happen, it’s only that i think the rules are different than i thought.”

jonny blinks at it. “T, yer not makin’ a lot of sense here, mind running me through some finer points?”

“r-right-o! which part?” the toy soldier attempts a salute, and fails miserably as it can’t seem to let go of jonny.

“well, whadya mean about ‘pretending’ to cry, and ‘when it oughtta happen’? and what rules?” jonny is still absently rocking and stroking its hair. the toy soldier thinks maybe the other people in the room might be different (someone left, someone came in, maybe there’s no one, or the whole crew?), but it can’t seem to focus on anything but jonny’s gentle voice and hands. it loses itself in the comfort-that-shouldn’t-be for a moment before mentally shaking itself back to reality and starting to speak.

“well, i can’t cry, not really, being as i’m only a toy, so i just pretend! i pretend a lot of things, you know, like being sick or hurt or sad, or like being the widow’s husband, or a rose red! only i think there’s rules to the crying game, and i don’t know exactly what they are but everyone else seems to but no one tells me, so i had to guess. i think the rules are that no one is supposed to know when you cry, and if you let them know then they get very cross with you and won’t play along. and there are times when someone says the right words and then you just _need_ a good cry, even when i don’t want to pretend and no one else wants me to, so i have to finish talking as fast as i can and run off somewhere on my own to pretend as quiet as i can. i got better and better at it but then i came here and met you lot and goodness, i think the rules are all different now!” the toy soldier pauses as one would to take a breath, and jonny takes the chance to cut in.

“T, that doesn’t sound like pretendin’ to me. and that cryin’ i saw just now was as real as any, aside from the tears. i know you don’t think the same as us on this, but we know yer as real as any of us. tim’s new, and angry, but he’ll come around, and get to know ya, and he’ll get it.” the first mate frowns. “we don’t hafta talk about the uh, ‘game’ right now, but the rules are different now. you can cry around any of us if ya need, or want, or feel like it’s gotta be done. but don’t hold it in just ‘cause ya think we don’t wanna see it.”

he squeezes it tighter for a moment and pats its shoulder. “alright?”

the toy soldier offers a tentative smile in return. “right-o!”

it has a lot to think about.


End file.
